Spider-Man 2114

Nisa's legs spread. A groan that didn't sound like her came out of her throat as her sex grew wet, like Virus's long finger was spraying her down. She felt her clit caressed forcefully, like Virus was demanding she feel pleasure. Virus's other hand came away, freeing Nisa, but she held still as the neckhole of her sweater was jerked down over one breast. She only wore a tanktop over it. Virus bit right through the thin fabric, sending thrills shooting down Nisa's belly to collide with the friction coming off her clit. Nisa was thrilling, struggling, dizzy with what was happening to her. If it weren't for her distant anxiety over the fatal kiss she'd just seen Virus deliver, she would've come already.

Virus's head lifted. She'd left a wet patch over Nisa's breast, her nipple throbbing through its transparency. She looked down at Nisa's hips bucking with the masturbation they were being given, seemingly as enthralled with the sight as Nisa was. "You're one hot bitch," she said, her voice cooing out of her.

Nisa just rocked her fucked cunt on Virus's fingers, her nipples burning—one from the attention it had gotten, the other from being deprived. Her sex was ready. She felt an orgasm on its way, better than anything the vibrator in her purse could give her.

Suddenly Virus capped Nisa's soft lips with her own, a soft smooth tongue forcing her mouth open. Nisa took the hot kiss despite all her brain's warnings. Her heart was thumping madly. Her cunt was flowing. Her clit was on fire.

Then Virus stopped as suddenly as she'd begun. Her finger was gone, her lips were gone—"Wish I could get you off with a warning, sweetcakes"—then she was gone.

Nisa stood there for a few moments, feeling her lips tingle, the cold air on her suddenly vacant body almost arousing her all over again. The lap of her leggings was wet and she was practically topless. Her body moved stiff, robotically as she straightened out her pink sweater.

That was better than Disneyland, she thought to herself. And if she made it back up to her cab on the roof, she just might be able to follow Virus wherever she was headed.

And if Virus had actually finished her off, maybe she would've been clear-headed enough to remember her ID card, dropped on the stairwell floor. An hour later, after a janitor had found Max's body and called the police, Stern and Connolly were presented with it by a CSI.

"Look who's still causing trouble," Stern growled. "Put out an APB. I think we've got our killer."

***

"Calling all cars, calling all cars, we have a possible suspect in the serial disappearances. Nisa Lolita, female taxi driver, cab number 0846273. She is a known mental terrorist, shoot on sight."

Nisa thumped the scanner off, giving the eye to Peter in the passenger seat. "Those stupid dicks! I didn't do it!"

Peter nodded. Or at least he slumped forward when Nisa stopped at a red light. Nisa looked down again to where Virus was stalking down the sidewalk, oblivious to the cab following her in the hover-lanes far above. Nisa wished she would hurry up and show up wherever the hell she was going. If this tail didn't pay off fast, she'd have the cops crawling up her tail.

Virus walked into the bad part of town—the part of town even the cops avoided. At least Nisa wouldn't have to worry about her frame-job here. Virus got plenty of looks, but something in her gait and the way she carried herself put off anyone from trying here. Finally, she stepped through the doorless doorframe of an abandoned building, with the graffitied gang signs of the Brotherhood advising anyone with the slightest street smarts to keep out. Nisa set her taxi down nearby and hid Peter in the footspace, wondering if he could feel the affectionate rub she gave his cheek.

"Don't worry, guy. I'll find some way to reverse this."

She locked the car behind her and followed Virus inside. The building was just as badly dilapidated inside as out, the walls ruptured where their copper wiring had been stripped out. Virus's footsteps echoed down into a boiler room. Nisa took the stairs one lonely step at a time, not descending a foot until she heard Virus take five steps into the distance. Near the bottom of the steps, she saw a green glow up ahead. That was when it hit her—if you wanted to hide something, you didn't chain it up, put a fence around it, run a retinal scan on everyone who came near.

No, you put it in the basement of a place no one would go into anyway, then you paid off the local street gang for good measure. That's how you kept a whole laboratory hidden.

In the middle of all the stuff that Nisa would need two college degrees to name, Virus was lying on a workbench—a recess for her, tools spread around where she wasn't face-up. She wasn't asleep. She was switched off. Made sense for a cyborg. Nisa crept up to her. She could see her phone, still stuffed in Virus's cleavage. She reached for it, moving Virus's breasts aside—they felt cold and dead without whatever simulacra she had being active. Like pushing jellyfish out of the way. Their leaden weight resisted her—some servo inside her not switched on, not giving her body the illusion of life, not making her flesh shift the way it was supposed to. It was like trying to pose a statue...

Nisa heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She muscled Virus's breasts aside, leaving them splayed open like Play-Doh, and grabbed her phone. "Well done, my pet project. Well done. All in one night!" She ran for a hiding place, seeing a door off to the side. She threw herself through it as Otaka stepped into the green light of his lab. "The boy, Parker... the absent-minded professor, Goldblum... the businessman, Max... with all their knowledge sucked into your database, 'em-and-gee' will falter and fold, while Otakacorp rises from their ashes like the phoenix of lore!"

Yep. He was Looney Tunes. No one was sane enough to use the phrase 'of lore' in a sentence. Nisa turned to look for another hiding place, in case he came into the room she was in, and stifled a scream.

They were stored all around her, each in a protein-nest of nurturing membranes, like body bags after a natural disaster. But it wasn't all IV bags and catheters. It was their brains. Something was wired into their brains.

The missing hookers. Packed in like meat at a supermarket.

Nisa started another video recording on her phone, running it over the missing hookers, then through the chicken-wire window in the door. Otaka was examining Virus, attentively fixing the damage Nisa had done to the false skin over her bionic arm with a fleshy spray. Then he moved the workbench like a gurney—Nisa had to crane herself around to follow his progress—taking Virus to a big console against the wall. He strapped Virus in and swiveled the workbench vertical, carelessly dumping various tools to the ground. With a few keystrokes, the console grew a large probe. He rotated the workbench again, sweeping Virus down so that her mouth opened and she seemed to swallow the probe.

Couldn't he make that a little less phallic? Nisa wondered. Look who I'm talking about—the runner of a wayward home for hookers.

On the console's vast screen, an upload was in progress. A trio of gesticulating icons showed up, labeled Parker, Max, and Goldblum. Nisa recognized the frenzy of computerized motion from M&G's press releases. Personality constructs. They weren't synthetic. They'd been ripped right out of someone's head!

Below the computer, like the drop in a soda machine, three BHDs were dispensed. Otaka collected them, lavishing attention on each as he dropped them into his pockets. "Look, Virus—our first-class tickets to a new life. How would you like to be secretary, yes? An excellent use of your talents, I should think...!" He tapped Virus's cold cheek with a laugh—Nisa thought he enjoyed it more with his fingerprints sticking in her skin like a brand. "The next time you see me, my dear, I will be the wealthiest man in this whole stinking city!"

Nisa watched him go. Exit the mad scientist. She looked around again, this time following the wires plugged into the prostitutes. They all led into something that looked like a giant network router, with several BHDs plugged in. Nisa pulled one. It had a holographic seal—a woman's face and name embossed on it. Two faces, actually, each visible depending only on which angle you looked at it from. You moved it ono way, you saw the 'real' face. No make-up, a few acne scars, a crooked nose. Nisa looked over the coma ward. She saw a matching face.

Then she moved the BHD the other way. The face became idealized—almost unrecognizable. A sexy smile, a sultry look through eyeshadow, no scars, no marks, not even a hint of the African-American blood the original had. It was the face of a porn star. Or a sexbot.

The BHD beeped. Nisa turned it over and saw a progress bar on the back of the seal. It was at 99%. Her mind leapt—Otaka was using the hookers to create personality constructs, but they weren't stable. He had to continuously 'recharge' them with the real thing. That's why he was keeping them alive, but on ice. He needed something real to objectify. Nisa plugged the BHD back in; it jumped back to a hundred percent. She couldn't understand the science, but she got the idea. All this: it was just prostitution with a cover of legality. All this tech, all this money, just to sell women.

Hell, to package women. It was like buying brand-name cereal instead of the store-brand. You weren't paying for the cereal, you were paying for the box. For the cartoon mascot on the cardboard.

She searched the router, finally coming up with one that read Virus. Whatever Otaka had done, there had to be a way to reverse it. When he came back, she wanted the real deal in that cybernetic freakshow he'd turned Virus's body into.

Nisa scrambled back to the window, checked the lab to see if Otaka had come back—he hadn't—and opened the door. He hadn't password-locked his computer on the way out. Nisa plugged Virus's BHD in and accessed it. A window opened with a swirl of thoughts and silent sounds playing, the most recent one a pan over Spider-Man's body. Virus knew Spider-Man? How did those two—oh. Obviously. Nisa looked over the file options. First things first, she to get that probe up. Which button had Otaka pushed? Nisa tried one, tried another—nothing.

She looked back at Virus. "Don't suppose you could give me a hint...?"

Virus was up, pulling free of the workbench's straps, cornering Nisa against the console. Shit, one of the buttons must've turned her on. Nisa turned back, jabbing another one, and heard the probe beep inside its casing. Virus was suddenly behind her, spinning her around, hauling her up onto the console. Nisa felt the buttons digging into her ass as the probe extended, between her spread legs. Virus looked down at it, her frozen face somehow conveying a bit of amusement at the sight of Nisa's would-be phallus, before she looked back up at the intruder. Obviously, she'd been programmed for such an eventuality—the exact same programming Nisa would give her in Otaka's shoes. Disable the trespasser and absorb their memories for interrogation later. Virus's tongue peeled back to reveal the crackling prong of her weapon.

It was only a mad rush of insight that saved Nisa. She thought of Virus sucking Peter off and then absorbing him, of mind-wiping Max right away, of playing with her before letting her go. She thought something of the real Virus had to be left behind, mixed in with whatever programming Otaka had given her. And apparently it responded well to her. Thinking fast, she flung herself onto Virus's gorgeous body and bit through her bodice, into the nipple of one heavy breast. She was rewarded with a moan of pleasure.

"Oooh," Virus crooned, "wanna finish what we started?" She pulled down her bodysuit, presenting her naked breasts. Nisa bit down on the other nipple, feeling the caress of Virus's soft flesh on her face. Her sex heated up, like no time at all had passed since Virus had fondled her in the stairwell. As Nisa palmed one tit, devoured the other, Virus stripped off the remainder of her bodysuit. Christ, Nisa thought, she's really built. In all senses of the word.

Nisa started to push down her leggings and Virus finished the job, pulling them off her, ripping her panties off. Their naked sexes came together, both women gently fucking against the other. Nisa felt Virus's pelvis bone drag from her cunt to her clit, felt her own hot honey in Virus's well-groomed bush. She moaned. Virus gasped.

Virus grasped Nisa's soft buttocks, holding their loins tightly together, the cool metal of the probe between them, cutting through their warm pleasure with a perfect spice. Nisa stared into Virus's eyes, registering pleasure, wonder, even a little nervousness.

"We can come like this," Nisa breathed, rolling her legs around Virus's hips, moving faster. She was wildly excited by Virus's body. Muscled, but not like a man—not hard. Firm. Her body flowed through Nisa's clawing hands, the cyborg rocking, crooning in pleasure, angling for a kiss that Nisa wouldn't give her. Instead, Nisa kissed and sucked Virus's big nipples like she was obsessed with them, hearing herself whimper in distressed desire. She felt Virus's big, voluptuous body writhe like a living flame inside the furnace her body provided, pushing her higher, higher...

Until Virus gripped her by the hair and held her back, paralysis-still. When she spoke, Nisa could hear her weapon clicking against her teeth. "Not a bad way to go: cumming." And she moved in with her electric tongue sparking.

Maybe she wasn't expecting what Nisa did next. Maybe she wanted it. Nisa grabbed her by the head and forced her down to the probe at her crotch. It slotted right down her throat, and over her shoulder, Nisa saw a new prompt come up on the computer. REVERSE?

She slammed her hand on the button. Then she reached down and rubbed her clit as Virus's mind was downloaded back where it belonged. This time she wouldn't be left high and dry.

***

Virus came to between Nisa's naked legs, watching the girl come right in front of her. "Wha...?"

Nisa looked down at her in horror, realizing the reversal had finished far quicker than she'd expected. It was too late to stop. She froze and ecstasy claimed her body, throbbing throughout her flesh, her cunt fluttering in spasms wet enough to drown the fire in her sex. Virus saw Nisa squirt, her flowing cunt oiling Virus's face from chin to nose. Then she was done, and Nisa slumped, victorious but defeated, against the view-screen.

Virus gave a tinkling laugh. "Where did I sign up for that wake-up call and how can I get it again?"

***

Otaka didn't get back until long after Nisa had explained the situation. This time, Nisa doubted a little breastplay would change Virus's mind. Or any of the other women they'd restored. She did insist on getting the three remaining BHDs from Otaka before the women got started. Peter was blameless, at least, and the other two the cops could have. Spider-Man probably wouldn't approve of what they did to Otaka, but that was okay. By the time she got him downloaded back into his body, it was all over.

"Who—what?" He gave his head a shake. "What happened?"

"Let me put it this way. You got your brains fucked out."

***

The women went their separate ways, some swearing to get into a new line of work, some self-aware enough to know they wouldn't. Peter regarded what was left of Otaka almost sadly. Nisa guessed when you were a superhero, you even had to feel bad for the villains.

"So what are we gonna tell the cops?" she asked, looking from Virus to Peter. "I already tried blowing the lid off this once. The commissioner covered it all up."

"What you need is someone in the press to get the story out," Peter said.

"You know anyone we can trust?" Virus asked.

"I might." Peter took the phone from Nisa. "Crap."

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna have to ask for my old job back."

***

The scandal had everything. Sex. Prostitution. Corruption. Even a sci-fi angle.

Even with the rancor that Jameson had taken Peter's departure with, he had to take the photographer back with a scoop like that. After the story broke, it was a lot like Nisa had first imagined it. There was a lot of sound and fury; little meaning. Connolly and Stern were retired, no benefits, no pension. No jail time, either, but getting to spend five months sucking down shots before they either died in a car accident to fell off a building wasn't such a miscarriage of justice. And Nisa got enough attention from the story to open her own detective agency. It wasn't quite being police, but she doubted any cop in the city had a partner as good as hers.

Not that Virus was overjoyed by her circumstances. Being able to thrown a grown man across a football stadium was nice, but she missed the simplicity of watching a sunset. No reticles, no sensor displays—just the sun.

The better part of her was medical waste now. Otaka had rebuilt her top-of-the-line. Some days, it was hard for her to tell where the machine ended and she began.

"You think someone can love a machine?" she asked Nisa as they waited around the office for the next case, for Peter to run a check-up on her systems—for whatever came next.

"C'mon, Vi... look out at the city. Everyone's plugged in to a machine, typing on a machine, looking at a machine—the machine might as well be inside as out. What's the difference anymore? Everyone's just like you."

Virus rubbed at her artificial arm. She didn't know if a baseline human could feel the metal endoskeleton, but she could. "The metal inside me... it feels so cold."

Nisa kissed her cheek. "So let's heat it up. Peter'll be here soon—let's see if he can tell the difference between two real things."

Virus grinned, reaching over to grope Nisa's breast. "Don't you mean four real things?"

Nisa couldn't even tell which hand she had used.